His eyes widen, sword dropping from his hand and out of my body so he can clutch all ten fingers to his throat against my single hand.
My bloodrage cuts off any notion of pain. His brothers beat on me from both sides. The one on the left shouts, “Kamlirn!” in a nasally voice.
My fingers dig into his flesh. Crush the cartilage. Turn his face from a pale sheen of white into a purple, bruised eggplant. Veins protrude from his face, ready to pop.
Kamlirn’s right eye goes from red to black—
And pops out of its socket from the incredible force of my chokehold. He wheezes, unable to breathe and losing consciousness.
The brothers on my left and right draw their swords with a shout. Other soldiers and guards show themselves in the window of the gatehouse, drawing bows and arrows. I spot a few of my Red Spawn sisters rounding the corner of the keep, coming from the stables. They hiss at the sight of me lifting Kamlirn off his feet. They come running.
Kamlirn’s brothers—mybrothers, I suppose—reel their weapons back to skewer me.
“Hold!” shouts a voice from the balcony of the central keep. Everyone’s eyes lift to the night sky to see Barnabac Craxon leaning over a rail, watching the goings-on. Everyone looks at our master . . . except me. I keep my eyes on Kamlirn, watching until I crush his neck and it shatters like thin bark in my iron grip.
I drop the vampire into an unmoving heap at my feet.
“He killed Kamlirn, Master!” shouts the man whose nose I broke. He sounds ridiculous, like he’s trying to talk underwater from all the blood bubbling into his nasal cavity.
Barnabac sighs loud enough for us to hear thirty feet below him. “Your brother isn’t dead, you dolt. He’s a fucking vampire. He’ll recover.”
“His eye!” the man whines, nudging his sword down to the eyeball hanging from Kamlirn’s socket, down toward his nose.
“‘Spose that won’t heal,” the overlord says, sounding disappointed. “What are my sons and daughters if not soldiers of the Red Butcher? You let a single man harm your brother in such a way? It will take weeks for the bones and cartilage in his neck to heal!”
“I . . .” The vampire hangs his head. Anger is there, under the ridge of his brow, staring up at me.
I say nothing and start to walk away. My bloodrage pumps in my veins at a lesser level. I’ve gotten the violence out of me, yet I’ll need more if I stay here any longer.
I hear the rasp of at least three swords behind me, the croaking of bowstrings snapping back from above me on the ramparts.
“Let him go,” Barnabac orders. “We do not punish the strongest among us, children. Even if they destroy one of ourown, it only shows their prowess—prowessyoushould have as well, fucking cretins!”
The voices of my “brothers” and “sisters,” half a dozen of my master’s legendary legion, voice their complaint in unison, until he silences them with an angry shout.
“If Kamlirn dies, he deserves it,” Barnabac says as I walk under the raised portcullis and make my way into Olhav. I touch a hand to my bloody side and wince, hearing him yell one last thing to his spawn before I’m out of earshot. “Besides, my children . . . I can always make more of you.”
Chapter 19
Sephania
After an eventful evening having my insides punished by Skartovius Ashfen and then acting as the Lady of Manor Marquin for his court, and nearly watching Garroway get trapped in his own damned mind, I’m hoping tonight will not be so eventful.
When I wake up hours before twilight, however, I know that will not be the case. My mind whirls with anger as I sit up in the cushy four-poster bed.
I’ve slept in one of Lord Ashfen’s lavish guestrooms. I can’t remember the last time I’ve had such a comfortable sleep, and I’m hoping it’s signaling a new age—one where I’m no longer sleeping on a prison cell cot or the roughshod beds of the hideaway houses Skar owns across Olhav.
I can get used to this,I think as I glance at the puffy pillows and heavy mattress surrounding me like a fort made of clouds.“A queen deserves comfort,” Skar told me last night before seeing me to sleep.Maybe he’s right.
My sleep was dreamless, thankfully. I’m a bit perplexed why I’ve woken up in a fit. Frustration sits close to the surface, and when my stomach grumbles I wonder if hunger is not the source of all that ails me.
Dressed in little more then a lanky shift, I pad my way through the elegantly corridors of the manor, down the main stairs, and march toward the basement to the servants’ quarters.
I scoff at myself as my feet make light sounds on the crimson rugs and marble floors. My eyes glance down at the shift hanging precariously on my body.Not looking like much of a fighter these days, am I? All this comfort Skar insists I deserve, it’s a far cry from the dingy cells of Sutlis Spire and the smelly leather garb of the Firehold.
The thought evokes shame inside me. I’m not meant to be a pampered princess. I’m no damsel, and I don’t wish to be treated like one.Try telling Lord Ashfen that,I think wryly as I push out the eastern door.
My eyes squint against the orange sky, a blazing ball of fire settling behind the mountain peaks in the distance. It takes me a moment to recognize the fireball as the fuckingsun, and I’m appalled at how long it’s been since I’ve seen daylight.
